The End Times
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Being on the losing side of a war for time immemorial is hardly beneficial for morale and the Forerunners were no exception. Strength stems from more than the physical however...and some will always remember that.


_A/N_

_Hard to say where this originated exactly, but I guess that's the trend for most oneshots anyway. References to other media aside, I'd say that the cor source of 'inspiration' would be my first week at uni, during which the story was originally concieved. Damn lecturers always speak too fast... :(_

_Disclaimer: Bungie owns Halo and all its characters._

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**The End Times**

_We must be psychic._

A completely unfounded theory in practice, but one that Aridas personally felt had merit. Where once there had been idle talk had been replaced in a second by an expectant hush throughout the Hall of Induction, a hundred or so voices replaced by silence. Lights dimming tended to have that effect on people.

_But there's more to it that that, isn't there? _Aridas thought, looking down over the hall from the overhead balcony as one of many observers, forced to watch the latest batch of meat for the grinder be 'inspired'. _There's always more to it than that…_

A lie as it was, and Aridas knew it. Once, long ago, a time that few remembered, things were different. Reaching the end of one's path had actual meaning to it. Now however…well, meaning seemed to have lost its sway.

_Maybe that's why the parasite is winning this war. It doesn't need to comprehend meaning…_

"You may be seated," came a voice, Aridas' eyes looking down towards the stage at the end of the hall. In an instant, no pair of feet was extending from the floor without an extra four added. Orders had to be followed after all, and while Oberion had used the word "may", no-one would miss the fact that he actually meant _now_.

Like the recruits, Aridas knew that Oberion was a living hero. What they didn't know however, was exactly how cheap the word hero had become these days. Aridas and a few others knew that there was a time when the term hero would be applied to an individual who sought to do the right thing while riding the sum total of personal risk, with your protectees having everything to gain by your actions and with you having everything to lose by them. Nowadays, a "hero" was someone who could follow the increasingly harsh and desperate orders being given by the brass, was a media darling and could avoid the attention of bleeding hearts liberals.

A saying as it was. Emergency military governments didn't exactly favour multi-party elections.

"You have come to here my words, so I will give them," Oberion boomed, his broken, twisted frame leaning over the stage's dais. "And these words shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." He paused for dramatic effect and, as Aridas suspected, to recover his breath.

"The truth that we are living in the last days of our race."

The reaction of the audience was varied but, as Aridas reflected bitterly, predictable. Ranging from gasps to shouts of denial, the recruits protested against Oberion's words.

"A predictable reaction," said Oberion slowly. "But it does not change the facts. Know that I have seen the cancer that eats away against the galaxy, the disease that erodes the foundations of our very existence. To fight the parasite is to know the darkness of fate, the ruination of life and the folly of hope."

No shouts of protest came Oberion's way this time. Aridas wasn't surprised. Oberion wouldn't have been pulled off the frontlines to give a lecture if he wasn't capable of delivering the impression that the brass wanted. That this was a war not for land or ideology. Rather, it was one for _survival_.

Oberion was obviously wrapping up as he leant back from the podium. "I have always believed that actions speak louder than words, and while I have given you the latter, it is up to you to carry out the former. But before this, take a close look at the person sitting next to you and remember that there is a good chance that you will be the one who kills him."

_And there it is, _thought Aridas. _Fatalism laid bare._

"You never did like Oberion much, did you?"

Ignoring the ceremony down below, Aridas turned to the source of the voice and smiled despite himself. It was always nice to see a familiar face, considering that many Forerunner faces seemed to be twisted by the parasite nowadays.

"Good to see you Isha," he said warmly.

"Didect, actually," his friend said, tapping at a sword crossed moon on her uniform.

Aridas raised an eyebrow. "We're referring to each other by rank now?"

Isha simply shrugged, confirming Aridas' suspicions that it wasn't worth pressing the issue.

"Back to Oberion though," said the Didect as she leaned over the balcony, watching Oberion be helped off the stage. "Why don't you-…"

"Oberion is a has been and a fatalist at that," Aridas snapped, anger building up in him. "And telling recruits that we're fighting a war that's already lost is hardly-…"

"You're hardly in a position comment on such matters, _Librarian,_" interrupted Isha, the emphasis on Aridas' non-military position not going unnoticed. "Especially with you spending all your time beyond Maginot doing gods know what."

Aridas toyed with the idea of going into depth as to what he did do beyond the line, but decided against it. Isha wouldn't understand. Maybe once, before the parasite had forced their paths in life to diverge, he could have seen the value in taking the time. Now though…

"Do you believe in fate, Isha?" Aridas asked eventually.

"No, but I believe in realism," the Didect answered firmly. "And you? Do you believe that we should waste more lives fighting a lost war than simply activating the array?"

Aridas considered the question. He considered the question that had faced his kind for centuries. He faced the question that…well, the question that defined the very future of the galaxy. A question that only a select few could answer.

Playing God had lost its appeal long ago.

"All I know is this," said Aridas eventually. "There may be such a thing as fate, and it is not always what we make for ourselves. However, while the weak bow down and succumb to fate, the strong stand firm against it."

"And are we strong enough?" Isha whispered, taken back to a time where these were words that she might have believed.

Aridas smiled. "Strength is derived from more than the physical Isha. And I intend to prove it."

Smiling for what she felt was the first time in decades, Isha didn't doubt that.


End file.
